Designs On You
by Liv Wilder
Summary: Fun two-shot based on Spoilers & Sneak Peeks for 6x08 'A Murder is Forever'. "Come here," he cajoles, his husky voice dripping bourbon and smoke from their night out at his bar; the night out that lasted until two in the morning when Kate pushed the last paying customers out of the door and locked up behind them so they could have a little private party of their own." COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1 - Rick

_A/N: SPOILER ALERT: This is a fun little one-shot based on a few spoilers that have been floating around for ep. 6x08 'A Murder Is Forever' as well as Sneak Peek #1 released by ABC yesterday._

_Happy Birthday, Beline! This is for you, my friend. Hope you have a wonderful weekend. xoxo_

* * *

_**Designs On You**_

The first time he vaguely noticed was when he was woken early one morning to find her sitting up in bed have a staring contest with Linus – the large black and white photograph of a lion that had hung on his wall since Alexis was wearing lace-trimmed, frilly ankle socks and red patent Mary Janes.

She had gently suggested that he move the picture to his office because she said she thought the lion was glaring at her. _Glaring_ at her! The cop who could stare down dirty bombs and serial killers, Big Foot and murderous Senators, even take on the FBI without blinking was being freaked out by a picture of a lion? And it would have been cute, adorable even, had it not been for the fact that she actually meant it…that he should take the picture down off his bedroom wall.

Now, he didn't want to be…_animalist,_ or was it _species-ist, specious_…or whatever, but she said _nothing_ about the bull elephant adorning the _other_ wall. Oh, no. Elephants were somehow allowed, since she had a whole perky little parade of them marching across her desk at work.

However, due to some as yet unexplained prejudice or other, poor Linus was on his way out. And that's how it started.

* * *

The second time he noticed was late one night, mid-yawn, as he reached his hand out blindly, patting the drinks cart for the bottle of 21 Year Old Balvenie Scotch he'd been saving for an especially long and difficult day exactly like the one he'd just battled his way through.

He felt around for the familiar column of the cardboard presentation tube, his mouth already watering in anticipation of the sweet honey jam flavor coating his tongue and then rolling all the way to the back of his throat to burn with a warm, fiery spice as it went down so easily he could smell the peat smoke from here.

Nothing. Nada. Nichts. ничего. Nic. Niente. Nul. Nix.

He opened his watery, tired eyes, peered down, searched the cart. _Gone!_

In its place he found a bottle of Patron Silver Tequila and a fancy, Polish Vodka that looked more like a perfume bottle. He vaguely remembered Kate telling him that the name of the vodka – U'Luvka - translated as 'legless' in English. Well, he doesn't know about legless, but he was getting a headache just looking at it, that's for sure.

His loft, his man cave, his haven, is being feminized, nay Beckettized…no, _Kateified_, bit by stealthy little bit.

* * *

The third time he noticed was during a quick shower and shave before they ran out the door to a crime scene the following morning. He decided to save time, shave in the shower since Kate had jumped in ahead of him, steamed up the mirrors, taken the only warm towel and used the last of his expensive, imported shaving gel on her legs.

He soaped up his face, reached out instinctively for the imitation ebony, silver-tipped, titanium bladed, cutthroat razor he had specifically left sitting on the tile shelf of the shower enclosure, only to find something plastic, lightweight and pink sitting in its place.

_What the…?_

The day rushed by in a flurry of canvassing, warrant drafting, interviews, and endless cups of coffee, and so it slipped his mind to challenge her…yet again!

But by the time they reached the weekend and he couldn't find his games console, discovering a Union Jack throw pillow and a _guitar_ - a guitar! - sitting on his favorite leather recliner in its place, he decided now was the time to go and talk to her.

* * *

Man up, Rick, he tells himself, as he takes a deep breath, cracks his knuckles and goes in search of his sexy, formidable fiancé.

"Kate, have you seen my—? Hey, watcha doing?" asks Castle, wandering into the bedroom in nothing but his robe and boxers to find Kate kneeling on the floor of his closet.

The sight of her, near naked on the floor, pulls him up short. His mouth starts to water, his palms begin to sweat, and his brain starts to fog.

"Tidying," comes her muffled reply, her back turned to him as she crouches knee-deep in thick, cream carpeting.

He leans on the doorframe, lounges really, trying to look casual, the two edges of his navy robe parting company to reveal his bare chest and legs, the tie trailing the floor behind him like a long plush tail.

The smooth, sensual line of her back, the soft flare of her hips, the silky tan of her bare skin, the lace of her...

_Damn!_ He's getting distracted already.

"Come here," he cajoles, his husky voice dripping bourbon and smoke from their night out at his bar; the night out that lasted until two in the morning when Kate pushed the last paying customers out of the door and locked up behind them so they could have a little private party of their own."

The party carried on in the cab all the way back to the loft, and then things got really noisy and really dirty really fast, and so now she's on the floor of his closet, lining up her shoes with the best part of four Advil in her stomach and a bottle of water by her side. (So she threw up, her hangover would be all the worse if she hadn't.)

"Kate, it's Saturday morning?" he grouses, sticking out one bare foot and probing her shapely, toned rear with his toes until she falls forward onto her hands and knees.

"Hey! Are you still _drunk_?" she asks, sitting back on her haunches to faux-glare at him, her glittering eyes giving her away.

"If I say yes will that mean I'm off the hook?"

"Can you hand me that pile of sweaters?" she asks, moving on from his state of drunkenness and the physical assault on her tush remarkably quickly.

When Castle does as she asks, passing her a neatly folded bundle of dark colored cashmere and lambs wool, it's only once the sweaters are in his hands that he realizes that they are in fact his – they are _his_ _sweaters!_

"What—? Eh, Beckett, these are mine," he says, hesitantly pointing out the obvious, because he is pretty sure that if he isn't still drunk, then Kate most definitely must be.

"Yeah. I'm moving them over here. They take up far too much space on that shelf," she says, as if this should make perfect sense and just…_end of discussion_.

Castle sighs. Hangovers make him feel horny and the things she was doing to him last night…

"Hey, babe. Come back to bed," he whispers, stealing a candy stripe hatbox out of her hands and dumping it on the floor beneath his winter coats.

Wait, does he even _own_ a hatbox?

"We just got out of bed," she points out, running a hand up and down the front of her own body to indicate the slinky black slip she has on. _Barely_ has on.

And that is _so_ not helping, Kate!

"Is there some state or city statute I'm unaware of that precludes us from getting right back in?" he argues, smoothing his hands up and down her bare arms with unconcealed longing, quirking a sexy smirk and batting his eyelashes, before tugging her towards him with a predatory smile.

"I was right. Still drunk," she says, clipped consonants clicking on her tongue as she pushes past him and heads for the bathroom.

She manages to slip inside before he can follow her and she _locks_ the door! She _never_ locks the door.

"Beckett?" he hisses, through the tiny gap in the woodwork. "Beckett?" he whines, the sound pathetic with need.

"Castle!" yells Kate, her frustration clearly evident in her voice. "I'll be out in a minute. Give me some peace. Go amuse yourself," she scolds, and then he hears her laughing in response to his sulky, heavy, dramatic man-sigh.

* * *

He wanders back over to their bed. It's a wreck - a scene of complete and utter sexual devastation. He stands and stares at it for a whole minute, a stupid, lovesick grin on his face. There's a red silk scarf still draped over the headboard (Kate left her cuffs at work), and a couple of long black feathers lying on her nightstand, along with a few other surprises she magically produced from her bedside drawer.

He flushes, grins even wider, shivers and his nipples tighten – a muscle memory – their tiny flesh-colored peaks brushing erotically against the velour plush of his robe. God he's getting turned on already and she's not even here.

Busy! He had better get busy. If Kate comes out of the bathroom and finds him mooning around with a hard-on…well, let's just say the last time he did that she told him where to go…and it wasn't 'lie down on the bed, darling'. More along the lines of 'deal with that yourself, Rick'. Because as with everything, Kate likes to be in charge…or she likes to _think_ she is, he tells himself cunningly.

He sets about picking clothes up off the floor – his and hers – and he re-hangs what's salvageable, folds the rest for dry cleaning or throws it in the laundry hamper.

His silver bullet cufflinks are still dangling from the cuffs of his shirt, and so he extracts them, dumps the shirt for washing, and then sashays over to his dresser, whistling, to put them in the little cedar wood box he had specially made to house his collection of cufflinks.

But it's...it's no longer there... M.I.A.

In its place sits a cream leather jewelry box, a tiny crystal bowl with several pairs of earrings inside, two ornate bottles of perfume, a tube of hand lotion and a brightly patterned, oval-shaped box of Kleenex tissues he's never seen before.

He's being edged out, he suddenly realizes. She's done it again! Stealthy Detective Beckett is using her feminine wiles as a distraction technique to make over his home so he wouldn't even notice!

He panics. He spins. His blood runs cold.

She's probably in the bathroom right now with a circular saw dismantling Boba Fett limb-by-limb…

"_KATE!"_

* * *

_Thoughts? Thank you CB for your wise counsel and for reminding me that Castle's headboard is solid! ;) Have a great weekend everyone. Liv x_


	2. Chapter 2 - Kate

_A/N: I seem to have done it again...made a one shot into a two shot! I'm hopeless. _

_Thank you to Ky3elk for the hostage suggestion! ;)_

_This chapter shows the same events from Kate's point of view. Enjoy! And a Happy Birthday weekend, B! _

* * *

_**Chapter 2 - Kate**_

Yes, that thing is definitely staring. Staring, if not actually full on _glaring_, thinks Kate, eyeing up the large, framed, black and white photograph of the lion Castle has hanging on his bedroom wall.

Night after night she has woken in this bed, maybe got up to use the bathroom or been disturbed by Castle's snoring, and the way the ambient light filters through the shutters and hits it square on…the eyes glow. Even in the dark, they glow.

She doesn't know what woke her this morning, only that she's now sitting here in _his_ bed, tucked up under _his_ high-thread count duvet, surrounded by brown, tan, taupe and every shade of beige, bronze, chocolate, camel, ecru, wheat, fallow, fawn, buff and biscuit in between. This bedroom is a man-cave, and Kate still feels like a visitor when she stays here…which is one heck of a lot since she came back from DC.

So she sighs loudly, crosses her arms with a huffy thud, rustles the sheets a little until she knows that she has his attention.

"You okay?" he asks, rolling onto his back to look at her.

She finds herself admitting that she thinks the lion – Linus, apparently, since Castle is intent on anthropomorphizing the damn thing by giving it a name – is glaring at her.

He doesn't laugh, as she fears he might, just tries to shut the discussion down by telling her how great he thinks it is that the lion – Linus – keeps you on alert with its pre-pounce staring.

The word _'home'_ maybe slips out before she can stop it, but he clearly doesn't hear or react or…care because he says nothing. Like he's been saying nothing on the subject since he bought them an apartment in DC they were supposed to move into together. Only she got her ass fired before they could even visit, let alone look at paint charts, pick out new towels or buy matching bathrobes.

She doesn't know what has come over her lately – this intense desire to nest at Castle's loft. She still has an apartment of her own, and okay, they are engaged, but it's not as if they have joint checking accounts or even save the date cards yet. They don't even have a date, and she was fine with that…_is_ fine with that she really was…

Until Alexis and Pi moved out.

Suddenly the loft is a more peaceful, less public place to be, and so the desire to make it more _his 'n' hers_ instead of just _his_ is nagging at her, keeping her up nights as she tries to find a way to open up this delicate discussion with him.

* * *

They get called to a murder just as she suggests that Castle move Linus into his office, and so her opportunity to capitalize on the Lion King's relocation is temporarily lost.

She realizes that this is going to be more of a difficult chat than she initially thought when Castle sidles up to her desk mid-morning and attempts to use her parade of elephants as a symbol of equivalency between her possessions and his. Her attack on Linus is clearly disturbing him. She can't tell if it's the lion precisely or just his stuff in general, but he clearly has issues and they really need to talk before this becomes a land grab.

She's approaching married life – _married life with Richard Castle_ - and that dawning realization is both terrifying and an exhilarating challenge.

She outsmarts him on the elephant front, because oh my God, those are _my_ elephants, this is _my_ desk and…they creeped him out from the start? She always thought he liked her elephants. He has a giant framed picture of one on his bedroom wall. She remembers their first torrid night together, waking up at 3am and taking a minute to look around the room, since there hadn't been much opportunity to check out his inner sanctum when she first led him in there and he started taking off her shirt. After that point everything pretty much went fuzzy, as she melted under his touch and the hungry heat of his mouth, when he gently laid her down on his mattress and then lowered his amazing body on top of hers.

She blinks and clears her throat.

So…yeah, elephants were something she always thought they had in common. She decides to put her theory to the test with a little reverse psychology.

"If _you_ don't like the elephants, _I_ don't like the elephants," she tells him, putting on her best poker face, because she knows him and she just has an inkling…

He caves. Of course he does. And the elephants stay. She's offering (or pretending to offer) to give up her own belongings to please him and he's always putty in her hands when he sees how hard she's working to be open with him these days.

No more scratching and clawing for anything. Well, except maybe some extra closet space.

* * *

The day is busy, hectic, Gates is on the warpath for another closure before the CompStat meeting as the end of the month approaches, and so there is no time or opportunity to talk.

They head out for drinks with the guys after work, which turns into kind of a session at the Old Haunt, until Ryan has to run home to Jenny armed with a bucket of spicy chicken wings and a jar of Marshmallow Fluff, and Esposito goes all squirrely after he takes a call from some woman that Kate is positively convinced is Lanie and then he leaves too.

Castle looks good. So unspeakably good. He's lounging casually against the bar as if he…well, yeah, he does actually own the place. And all these strange little thoughts keep occurring to Kate since they got engaged – she's marrying her partner, her best friend, her favorite author, a famous millionaire author no less, who owns a bar and has a daughter and a crazy, opinionated mother who is currently out of town on a spiritual retreat right now, so…

Kate clears the bar. She sends the staff home for the night, and then she gives Richard Castle a little taste of what life is going to be like as Mr. Kate Beckett.

She misbehaves in the cab on the way home - and since when was _he_ the sensible one? He re-buttons his shirt faster than she can get it undone and then he captures both of her hands in his and holds onto them when she giggles, sways a little and begins a stealthy assault on the zipper of his pants, all while the cabbie studiously ignores them upfront.

He's not such a gentleman once they get inside the loft, thankfully, and the couch quickly sees some action, before he persuades her into the bedroom for the main event.

She's tipsy, loose, loves the way being in love with him allows her to feel – so free, naughty, vulnerable, never judged no matter what she says or does. And tonight they both say and do plenty – long and loud and hot and fast and even a little kinky. He's her best friend and he's going to be her husband. That thought blows her mind so much that she forgets to raise the issue that's been haunting her all day long.

Later, freshly showered and a little dehydrated, she falls back into bed, her head settling on the plump pile of cool pillows with a pleasant sigh, a sated smile on her face. Castle is already fast asleep beside her, his soft, rhythmic inhale and exhale soothing her closer to sleep, when all of a sudden she hears a noise, and after her eyes grow accustomed to the dark, she finds herself face-to-face with Linus again.

They really need to talk.

* * *

Next morning he's up before her, clattering around in the kitchen while she swallows down a couple more Advil and drinks a whole bottle of Poland Spring.

The meds help and she gets a burst of energy, has a sudden urge to be proactive, to tackle the tricky conversation they've been putting off today. But first she decides to ease into it the more devious, playful (coward's) route - getting his attention the fun way…by messing with his stuff.

She's on her knees inside his closet, rearranging shoes and knitwear, when he finally comes to find her. The breadcrumb trail she's been leaving…the repositioned games console, the missing bottle of expensive Scotch, the weird and wonderful herbal teas she's stocked in his kitchen cabinet – they all seem to be doing their job, if his tone when he enters the bedroom is indicative.

She can tell immediately that he's on the hunt for the console when he speaks with that frustrated whine in his voice. However, finding her kneeling on the floor in just her negligee clearly gives him other ideas, and before long he's trying to seduce her back into bed with that sexy, husky voice and his wandering hands and, God, she is _so tempted._ But she needs to deal with this first, so she escapes to the bathroom, instructing him to amuse himself while she brushes her teeth and then hides inside for a couple of minutes, biding her time, hoping to force things to a point of no return.

When he yells out, she knows he's found her jewelry and the perfume bottles, his precious cufflink box now hidden in one of the dresser drawers. He sounds quite frantic actually and she worries for a moment that he's maybe making a fuss about something else entirely.

But then he's banging on the bathroom door, yelling her name and something about Boba Fett.

She turns to look over her shoulder at the life size, helmeted, bounty hunter, gives it a wink and puts her fingers to her lips, telling it to 'shhhhh' as she bites down a snigger. Maybe she is still a little drunk after all.

All goes quite for a second and she's on the verge of unlocking the bathroom door, when she hears him stepping on the creaky board right outside.

He knocks, she holds her breath, but what comes out of his mouth next has her doubling over, clutching her sides, tears beading her eyes.

"I have your shoes," he declares, knocking lightly on the bathroom door. "You know the black satin ones you love so much, with the metal heels?"

When she hears that he means _those shoes_ - the Giuseppe Zanotti stilettos she saved up for a month to buy at Nordstrom, all bets are off.

She unlocks the bathroom door immediately and comes out…fighting, in a manner of speaking.

"What the hell, Castle?" she asks, staring at the pair of sexy shoes dangling from his large hand.

Had she taken a minute to think clearly, she would have realized that, like her parade of elephants, Castle loves these shoes as much as she does – maybe even more, given the number of times he's insisted she keep them on in bed, crying out in paroxysms of pleasure when she grazes his calf with the spike of her heel…accidently on purpose.

"What are you planning to do with them?" she asks, schooling her features so that the wild-eyed look of panic is replaced by something more neutral; something he can't take advantage of.

"Holding them hostage," he says, as if this should be immediately apparent.

"Hostage?" asks Kate, fighting down the bubble of laughter building in her chest again. "Shoes?"

Castle nods gravely.

"Any particular reason? Did the shoes…_attack_ you?" she suggest, swallowing a giggle.

"Nope. I'm willing to trade them for Boba Fett," he announces, peering warily over her shoulder into the bathroom beyond.

"Trade? For Boba F—?"

She almost laughs, but then she's standing in the bathroom doorway in little more than a scrap of lace, her headache is rapidly returning, and really, they are both getting too old for this.

* * *

"Castle, we need to talk," she says, these ominous words obviously so distracting to him that she's able to take the shoes out of his hand without him even noticing.

"Talk?" he balks, assuming the worst, since these have often been words of doom for them in the past.

"Yes," she says, quietly. "Come sit down."

They end up on the floor of his closet, after he follows her in there with the shoes, and Kate sinks to the floor to rest her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, soft carpet beneath her bare feet. The space smells of lavender drawer liners and the familiar lemon verbena tang of Castle's cologne.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asks, discovering a sandalwood ball lying on the floor beneath his coats and picking it up to roll it in his palm.

"We…uh…we haven't really discussed what happens…_next_," she says, thinking this talk seemed so much easier when she had it with herself inside her head.

"Next?" repeats Castle, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head. Clueless.

"Yes."

"Is this about the wedding venues? Are you still mad that I didn't go visit them with you? Because Alexis _genuinely_ needed my help in Philly, that wasn't just an excuse to—"

"Castle!" she says, trying to hold his attention, to stay on track before she loses her nerve.

"Hmm?"

"Castle, this isn't about wedding venues."

"Right, okay. Sorry, you said what happens next and I just…I assumed that you meant—Is it Gates? Does she have a problem with us working together because I—?"

"Rick, please. This isn't about Gates or wedding venues or Alexis or Pi or your mother…although that _is_ a side issue. It's about you and me and us sharing a home together…eventually when…after…"

"I…I'm beginning to think you might be right," he says, and Kate feels utter relief wash over her. He understands, he gets it; she won't have to spell it out after all. "I think maybe I am still a little drunk," he declares, rubbing his eyes.

* * *

Kate sighs, lets her head drop into her hands, then she takes a deep breath and tries again.

"You know when we were doing the two city thing and it really wasn't working?" she asks, laughing a little hollowly at the memory of desperate phone sex at 6am. "We hardly ever saw each other. And then you came up with the perfect solution when you bought that apartment in DC?"

"You want to move back to DC?" he asks, grasping at straws.

"No," she sighs. "No, what I'm trying to say is that one of the things I got so excited about, when you did that amazing thing for us, was that we would be setting up home together."

He looks as if he almost can't believe what he's hearing, Kate assumes, and she knows it is a bit of a leap, given this is her doing the pushing for once.

"But we kind of live together here," he says, and finally, he's where she needs him to be. The bases are loaded and she's about to hit a home run.

"Exactly…_kind of_. Castle, I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been spending an insane amount of time here since I got back from DC and…well, it got me thinking about what happens next."

"I thought we were going to wait a bit before setting a date. Just enjoy our engagement."

"We are. I'm more than happy with that. But if I'm going to be spending so much time here…" she leaves the thought hanging for a second, hoping he'll just…figure it out without actually having to ask him for anything. She hates asking anyone for anything, even the man she's going to marry.

Nope. Not a chance. He's hanging on her every goddam word this morning. She may even have to draw him pictures at this rate.

She takes another deep breath and dives in.

* * *

"Would you mind if I brought some more of my stuff over? Made a few changes here and there?" she finally forces out.

The long whoosh of breath she doesn't really mean for him to hear or witness leaves her chest in a great gush of relief, and then she bites her lip and waits for him to catch up with her.

"Are you asking if you can move in with me?" he grins, scooting closer, planting his hands either side of her hips and bracketing her thighs with his own.

"Eh…no…I wasn't actually…no that wasn't what I…"

"Kate?" he says quietly, ducking his head to look at her slightly terrified face, as he smooths his hands down her thighs. "Because if you are, that would be okay with me."

"Okay with you?" she repeats, letting the idea of that new and sudden permanency thunder through her blood.

"More than," he nods, encouragingly, stroking her knee with his thumb.

"But Linus?" she says, haltingly, feeling like an idiot the second the ridiculous question is out of her mouth.

Castle chuckles.

"Linus will get over it. So will Boba Fett."

"What does Boba Fett have to do with this?"

"I've seen the subtle little changes you've been making around here, Kate. And I know Boba Fett is probably next on your list."

"I like Boba Fett," she grins, tipping her head down to hide her shy, tentative smile. "If you like my shoes."

Castle scoots closer still, until they're both nestled under a hanging rail of wool and cashmere.

"I love your shoes. And I love this loft. It was my haven for so long…my bachelor pad, if you will. But you know what?" he says, leaning in to kiss the side of her mouth so delicately that she shivers.

"What?" whispers Kate, her cheeks flushing as she slides her arms up around his neck and kisses him back.

"I love you more. I love you _way_ more than any décor or…or _stuff_ that I might have accumulated over the years."

"Yeah?" asks Kate, her eyes shining and hopeful. "You mean that?"

"This is our home. We need to turn it into one that we both love. There are days when I physically pinch myself that you've agreed to marry me, Kate Beckett. That we're actually doing this – building a life together. I'm sorry I've been so territorial and resistant to change. Move whatever you need, paint the walls whatever color you like. You have wonderful, stylish, beautiful taste, and it's time this place had a makeover anyway."

Kate cradles his face in her hands, stroking the soft spot beneath his eye with her fingertips, almost overcome with her love for him. Things are going to work out. So long as they keep talking about the issues – big and small – everything will fall into place.

She feels a rush of ideas bubbling over, filling her with excitement and optimism.

"How do you feel about pink?" she teases, squealing when he tips her over onto her back, and they proceed to christen the floor of their closet for the very first time.

* * *

_Thoughts?_


End file.
